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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561544">For Everything There is A Season</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_girlfriend/pseuds/dr_girlfriend'>dr_girlfriend</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack Fic, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Four Seasons Total Landscaping, Fraction/Aja Comic!Clint Barton, Hawkeye Comic!Clint Barton, M/M, No COVID Because Kissing, Secret Service Agent!Bucky Barnes, Small Business Owner!Clint Barton, Strike Team Delta (Marvel), mild derogatory language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:28:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_girlfriend/pseuds/dr_girlfriend</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What in the <i>hell</i> did you do, Stevie?” Bucky hisses when they’re out of earshot of the agent at the door.</p><p>“I solved the problem, Buck!” Steve says, with a shit-eating grin that strikes fear into Bucky’s heart.  “See, I was Googling, and —”</p><p>“No,” Bucky whimpers, dread welling up in his chest.  “Whatever it is, <i>no.”</i></p><p>They are in the small staff kitchen now, and Sam looks up inquiringly.  “Don’t tell me he actually went for it,” he says, his voice gleeful.</p><p>“Of course he went for it,” Steve says, trying to keep the snicker out of his voice.  “They <i>love</i> him in that part of town,” he repeats in a crooning falsetto.</p><p>Bucky feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.  “What the <i>fuck</i> did you two do?!?”</p><p>Steve bites his lip, looking a little repentant.  He unlocks his phone and hands it to Bucky, open to Google Maps.</p><p>“Four Seasons…<i>Total Landscaping?!?”</i> Bucky reads.  “What the fu —”  He hits street view, and his legs grow weak.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>585</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Time to Seek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts">Kangofu_CB</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I couldn't help myself.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“He did <em> what?!? </em>”</p><p>Sam shakes his head.  “Man, I don’t even know.  You know if we could stop him from tweeting I woulda sat on him myself and pried that phone outta his tiny little hands on Inauguration Day.  But we can’t, and so he keeps pulling this bullshit, and my question is, what the <em> hell </em> are we gonna do now?”</p><p>Bucky takes a moment just to regret all his life choices.  </p><p>Becoming a Secret Service agent was an honor, and a privilege.  And they discharge their duties faithfully and defend the Constitution regardless of who holds the office.  It just all seemed easier when President Rhodes was the one they were laying their lives on the line for, not <em> this </em> buffoon.  </p><p>Alexander Pierce ascended to the highest office in the land on a platform of cruelty and greed, and Bucky’s life has been one long nightmare ever since.</p><p>“Who’s covering him now?” Bucky asks.</p><p>Sam’s expression grows completely neutral, which is how Bucky knows that he’s up to something.</p><p>“Rogers.”</p><p>“Motherfu —”  Bucky is already moving, barely taking the time to nod to the agent at the door before bursting into the study, and —</p><p>“I’m just saying, it’s a small business.  You know, local color.  They probably love you in that part of town.”  Steve has that wide-eyed, sincere expression which Bucky knows from childhood means he’s being a subversive little shit, but hell if he can figure out what Steve’s up to.  </p><p>“You’ll probably get a big crowd,” Steve adds nonchalantly, and Bucky knows he’s already lost.  Pierce’s eyes light up at the idea of having people fawning over him.  It’s the only thing that he cares about.</p><p>“Sir —” Bucky starts.  He has to stop this, even if he doesn’t know what it is.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Burns.  Rogers here has worked it out.”</p><p>“It’s Barnes, sir,” Steve nudges, just like he does every time.  Bucky himself had given up years ago.</p><p>“Whatever.  Just — make it happen.” </p><p>“Yes, sir.”  Steve nods respectfully and exits the room, Bucky on his heels.</p><p>“What in the <em> hell </em> did you do, Stevie?” Bucky hisses when they’re out of earshot of the agent at the door.</p><p>“I solved the problem, Buck!” Steve says, with a shit-eating grin that strikes fear into Bucky’s heart.  “See, I was Googling, and —”</p><p>“No,” Bucky whimpers, dread welling up in his chest.  “Whatever it is, <em> no</em>.”</p><p>They are in the small staff kitchen now, and Sam looks up inquiringly.  “Don’t tell me he actually went for it,” he says, his voice gleeful.</p><p>“Of course he went for it,” Steve says, trying to keep the snicker out of his voice.  “They <em> love </em> him in that part of town,” he repeats in a crooning falsetto.</p><p>Bucky feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.  “What the <em> fuck </em> did you two do?!?”</p><p>Steve bites his lip, looking a little repentant.  He unlocks his phone and hands it to Bucky, open to Google Maps.</p><p>“Four Seasons …<em> Total Landscaping?!?” </em> Bucky reads.  “What the fu —”  He hits street view, and his legs grow weak.</p><p>“Sit down, man,” Sam says solicitously, pulling out a chair.</p><p>“Four Seasons Total Landscaping,” Bucky repeats woodenly, dropping into the chair.  “Next to —” he swipes his thumb, spinning the street view around a few times to be sure.  “Fantasy Island Adult Books.”</p><p>“Oh, hey, really?”  Steve cranes his head over Bucky’s shoulder.  “I didn’t even look past the parking lot.”</p><p>“The <em> parking lot</em>,” Bucky repeats, his voice faint.  “This gravel parking lot, in front of a cinderblock building.  With a garage door, a fire extinguisher, and a yellow hose.  This parking lot is where you convinced our soon-to-be-former-President of the United States to hold his press conference.  Tomorrow.”</p><p>“C’mon, Bucky,” Steve says.  He’s starting to sound a little concerned now, although Bucky is pretty convinced it’s for <em> Bucky’s </em> welfare, not Pierce’s.  “He already tweeted that it was gonna be at the Four Seasons, and that place won’t let him in the door.  I’m just helping the guy save face.”</p><p>Sam makes a sound that he attempts to cover with a cough, like that’s fooling anyone.</p><p>“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Steve says.  He reaches over, swiveling the street view.  “I mean, look, across the street there’s a really nice-looking ... um ... crematorium?”</p><p>“Handy,” Sam chimes in.  “When Pierce orders us killed they can take our lifeless corpses right over.”</p><p>Bucky is getting one of those tension headaches that starts right between his eyes.  Probably right where Pierce’s hit squad will put the bullet.  “Stevie, did you even call this place and see if they were okay with it before you <em> suggested it to the president?” </em></p><p>“‘Course not, Buck,” Steve says innocently.  “Wouldn’t wanna step on your toes.  We all know the roster says you’re on advance team planning today.”</p><p>The thunk Bucky’s head makes as it hits the table only makes his headache worse.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Time to Speak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Four Seasons Total Landscaping,” the guy on the phone says in a gravelly voice that sounds like maybe Bucky woke him up.  “We provide turf mowing, hardscaping, spring and fall cleanups, and seasonal color.  Unaffiliated with the Four Seasons hotel.  How can I help you?”</p><p>“Yes.  Um.  Hello.”  Bucky pulls in a deep breath, and takes the plunge.  “This is Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes, of the United States Secret Service.  I’m calling to inquire —”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” the voice on the other end of the line drawls.  “C’mon, Phil, how slow is it over there that you gotta be prank-calling me at 9 a.m.?”</p><p>“Sir, I assure you —”</p><p>The line goes silent, and Bucky looks down at his phone.  <em> Call disconnected. </em></p><hr/><p>Bucky gives himself a minute to deep breathe, and then tries again.</p><p>“Four Seasons Total Landscaping.  We provide turf mowing, hardscaping, spring and fall cleanups, and seasonal color.  Unaffiliated with the Four Seasons hotel.  How can I help you?”</p><p>“Sir, please don’t hang up.  This is Special Agent James —”</p><p>“Buchanan Barnes,” the guy finishes.  “Uh huh.  Like anyone would name their kid after <em> James Buchanan? </em>  Seriously, Phil, I know you got a hard-on for civics, but you gotta come up with some better fake names.  How about the classics?  Anita Man?  Mike Rotch?  Seymour Butts?”</p><p>“I go by Bucky,” Bucky says faintly, overwhelmed by the onslaught of words.</p><p>There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and then the squeak of a chair as the guy seem to sit up.  </p><p>“This isn’t Phil, is it?”</p><p>“No, sir.  This is Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes, of the United States Secret Service.  I’m calling — um.  I mean, I’m calling to ask you to consider if...if President Pierce could book your location for a press conference tomorrow.”</p><p>There’s a long pause, and then, “You heard where I said Four Seasons <em> Total Landscaping</em>, right?  And that part about being unaffiliated with the hotel?  I’m pretty sure I said it twice.  And like, I don’t mean to mock, I’m hearing impaired myself, but —”</p><p>“I <em> know,” </em> Bucky cuts in, frustration thick in his voice.  “I mean, I know that I’m calling a landscaping company.  And I know what I’m asking, it’s just that —”</p><p>“Well, if this <em> isn’t </em> a mistake, and you <em> don’t </em> want the number for the Four Seasons Hotel that I have written on my little notepad to helpfully provide on occasions such as this so that they don’t sue the everlovin’ crap outta me, I don’t think we have anything else to talk about.”</p><p>“Sir, if I can just ask you to consider —”</p><p>“Listen.  Bucky,” the guy cuts in.  “You sound like a nice guy, but this is a queer-owned business, and Pierce is a homophobic racist misogynistic facist <em> asshole</em>, and I wouldn’t piss on that guy if he were on fire.”  There’s a thoughtful pause.  “That’s not considered a threat, from your perspective, right?  I mean, I’m not saying I would <em> set </em> the guy on fire, just that I wouldn’t piss on him to put it out.  That’s on the right side of the line, I’m pretty sure.”</p><p>“No, I —”  Bucky sighs.  “I understand.”</p><p>“Yeah.  Well, sorry.  Hope you work it out,” the guy says, and hangs up.</p><p>Bucky puts the phone down, rubbing his thumb beneath his brows.  He looks up and Steve is across the table, staring at him sympathetically.</p><p>"Goddammit, Stevie," Bucky complains.  "I pulled an overnight because Pierce wouldn't fucking settle, I haven't even had breakfast yet, and you have to land me in the shit first thing."</p><p>"Aw, Bucky.  You know I didn't mean to."</p><p>“You heard all that, right?”  Fucking Steve and his freakishly good sense of hearing.  “What’re we gonna do now?  You <em> know </em> Pierce isn’t gonna listen to reason.”</p><p>Steve sets his jaw and stands, straightening his jacket.  “We’re off shift at noon.  We’re gonna go down there and convince this guy to change his mind.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Time to Lose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four Seasons Total Landscaping is every bit as impressive as it looked on Google maps.  In other words, it is not at <em> all </em> impressive.  It’s obviously built for utility, not aesthetics.  The cinderblock outer walls have been painted an absurdly bright purple, and the wiring for the floodlights runs along the whole length of the front exterior.  </p><p>In addition to the fire extinguisher and yellow hose Bucky had noted previously, there’s a prominently-displayed hazmat sign on one side of the garage door, and what looks like an archery target of all things on the other side.  Orange cones are stacked in the corner of the lot and something that looks like a miniature frontloader is parked out front.  A beat-up blue flatbed truck, a red 1970 Dodge Challenger, and a Ford F-350 dump truck with a snow plow hookup on the front are all parked along the chicken wire fence separating the property from the street.</p><p>Steve pulls up on the street outside the gravel lot, and he and Bucky just stare disconsolately at the building for a minute.  There’s a tall flagpole in front of the building, with a Pride flag — the Philadelphia one, with the black and brown stripes — flying right under Old Glory.</p><p>“Rock paper scissors for who goes in?” Steve suggests, and Bucky nods.</p><p>They throw for it, and ...<em> goddammit</em>.</p><p>“You always throw rock,” Bucky whines.  “Since we’ve been kids, Stevie, you’ve always thrown rock.  What the hell?”</p><p>Steve shrugs and tries to look innocent.</p><p>“You’ve been saving this up,” Bucky realizes, indignant.  “You hustled me at goddamn rock paper scissors, Steve.  I hope you’re happy.”</p><p>“C’mon, Buck, don’t be a baby.  It’ll be fine.  I heard that phone call.  I think you and this guy had some kind of ... rapport ... going on.”</p><p>“Some kinda <em> rapport</em>,” Bucky grumbles under his breath as they both get out of the car.</p><p>“I’ll be right here,” Steve says, settling into parade rest in front of the car, looking as conspicuous as goddamn possible in his black suit and sunglasses.</p><p>Bucky reluctantly crunches his way across the gravel parking lot toward the door, the glare of the sun making his aching head spin.  Christ, he should have at least had Steve stop for coffee or something, even if his stomach was too nervous to handle eating something.</p><p>Before he even reaches the door, it’s thrown open.  A dog comes galumphing out, a shaggy one-eyed brown mutt, and Bucky immediately crouches down to pet it.  God, he misses having a dog around the White House.  What kind of president doesn’t like dogs?  Like they needed yet another sign that Pierce was a psychopath.</p><p>And, yeah, maybe he’s using the dog to buy himself just a few more minutes, ignoring the footsteps that are scuffing through the gravel towards him.</p><p>Finally, he can’t avoid it any longer.  Battered brown work boots have come to a stop right in front of him, and Bucky gives the dog a final pat and stands slowly, trailing his eyes up — and up, and <em> up </em> — over faded jeans that hug endless legs and slim hips, past a t-shirt that's loose at a trim waist and almost splitting its seams around broad shoulders and frankly impressive biceps, and finally to an amused face, topped with a disordered mop of blond hair.</p><p>The man has bright blue eyes with slight crow’s feet at the corners of them, a nose that looks like it’s been broken a time or two, and blond scruff covering a square jaw.  He’s got purple hearing aids looped behind each ear.  He’s fuck-off tall, probably taller even than Steve, and Bucky wants to climb him like a tree.</p><p>Every word Bucky has ever learned in his life has temporarily flown from his head.</p><p>“Clint Barton,” the man says, holding out a callused, tanned hand that Bucky shakes purely based on muscle memory.  “Four Seasons Total Landscaping.”</p><p>“Oh.  Uh.  Hi.  Um.  I’m —”</p><p>“Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes, I’m guessing?” the man — <em> Clint </em> — says with a wry grin.</p><p>“Oh.  Uh ... yeah.  How did you know?”</p><p>“Oh, I dunno,” the guy drawls.  “The dark sedan with government plates?  The 9 millimeter Glock in your shoulder holster?  Your buddy there doing his best Men in Black impression?  The fact that you called me twice about three hours ago?”</p><p>“Yeah.”  Fuck, he needs to kickstart his brain.  “You’re pretty good at spotting a weapon for a landscaper.  You used to be a badge?  Military?”</p><p>“Somethin’ like that,” Clint says, crossing his arms.  It makes his biceps bulge even more, and Bucky’s throat goes a little dry.</p><p>“So, was I somehow not clear enough on the phone?” Clint says with an edge to his voice, and — yeah, Bucky probably deserves that.</p><p>“No, you were, it’s just —” It seems ridiculous now.  “I just thought I’d come out in person, and see if you would maybe ... reconsider.”</p><p><em> “Reconsider,” </em> Clint repeats flatly.  “Maybe <em> I’m </em> not the one who should reconsider.  Because I can tell you, if that spray-tanned, blow-dried douchebag steps foot on my property I’m likely to sock him in the jaw, and as a Secret Service agent I would think that <em> that </em> would be in direct contradiction to your goals.”</p><p>“Yeah.”  The headache is worse than ever, pounding between Bucky’s eyes.</p><p>“I mean, how can you even work for a guy like that?  Take a <em> bullet </em> for a guy like that?”</p><p>Bucky stares into the middle distance, trying to school his expression.  “My political opinions are irrelevant to the job,” he says woodenly, just like he says every time his family or friends bring the issue up.</p><p>“Yeah, well, at least <em> I’m </em> entitled to my own political opinions, and my very well-researched and highly-nuanced political opinion is that Alexander Pierce <em> can shove it.” </em></p><p>The headache is splitting Bucky’s skull now, pain so intense it’s making his eyes water.  The sun is too bright out in this bare gravel drive, and he stares down at his feet a little, blinking to try to clear his eyes.  He’s got a lump in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow.  </p><p>It’s not like Clint hasn’t said anything Bucky hasn’t heard — or even told <em>himself</em> — hundreds of times over the past four years, but he’s so close to the end. Pierce lost the election, thank god.  The end of his term is just a few months away, but Bucky’s just <em> exhausted</em>.</p><p>“Hey,” Clint says, sounding alarmed.  “You’re not — you’re not gonna cry, are you?”</p><p>“Of course not!”  Bucky snaps his head up, and — oh, that was not a good idea.  The parking lot seems to shimmy for a moment.</p><p>“Whoa.  Hey.”  He didn’t even see him move but Clint suddenly has an arm around Bucky’s waist, steadying him.  “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah.”  Bucky resists the urge to just lean in for a moment.  He could really use a goddamn hug right around now, and Clint’s solid frame is warm and steady.  He smells nice too, like fresh-mown grass and sawdust.  “I’m just — I’m sorry.  I worked an overnight and then came here.  Guess I forgot to eat or ... y’know, drink anything.  I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Here, come on in.”  Clint starts walking, his arm still around Bucky, moving him toward the building.  “Sit down for a minute, I got water, and coffee, and ... I think Katie-Kate brought in donuts this morning.”</p><p>He suddenly whistles, a distinctive three-note tone, and the dog bounds ahead of them, pressing his paw against a button that makes the door swing open.</p><p>“That’s ... that’s cool,” Bucky says.  </p><p>“Yeah,” Clint says fondly.  “I’m tryin’ to teach him to drive the dump truck, but so far I’ve only taught him how to press the button to dump the load.”</p><p>Bucky has no idea if Clint is kidding or not.  He feels like his thoughts are scattered.  “I should tell Steve —” he says, trying to turn around.</p><p>“I don’t think your partner is gonna be lonely,” Clint says, amusement clear in his voice.  And sure enough, Steve is leaning against the car, looking entranced, as a slim redheaded woman in a leather bustier and dark jeans chats with him.</p><p>“That’s Nat,” Clint explains.  “She owns the sex shop next door.  We go way back.”</p><p>The interior of the building is cool and dark, relieving some of Bucky’s headache almost instantly.  Clint guides Bucky forward to a door labeled “Office” and then inside.  There’s a disordered-looking desk covered in piles of paper and at least a few coffee mugs with discolored rings around the bottom.</p><p>Clint settles Bucky in the chair in front of the desk and then pulls a bottle of water from a mini-fridge and cracks it open, handing it over, before heading out of the office again.  The dog sneaks into the room before the door swings shut, resting his big head on Bucky’s knee and peering up at him with one limpid brown eye.</p><p>“Hey, boy,” Bucky says hoarsely, giving him another few pats.  </p><p>He closes his eyes and just holds the cold bottle to his head for a minute, before taking a long swallow.  The cold water clears some of the fuzziness from his head.  Damn, but he was woozier than he thought.  He almost fainted in front of Clint, like one of those newbie agents who lock their knees while standing and pass out at their first presser.  It’s fuckin’ embarrassing, is what it is.</p><p>Clint comes back into the room, carelessly shoving aside a stack of paper and setting down a pink box of donuts.  There’s mostly just outlines showing where the chocolate ones used to be, but there’s still a strawberry one, and Bucky takes it gratefully.  </p><p>When was the last time he ate?  He skipped dinner last night, for certain, because Pierce was having a tantrum about something or the other.  And nothing this morning, either, between the early morning tweet-storm and then this whole Four Seasons debacle.  Shit, no wonder he’s about to keel over.</p><p>“I’m really sorry,” he mumbles around the mouthful of donut.  “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”</p><p>Clint has settled into the squeaky desk chair on the other side of the desk with his own mug of coffee.  He leans forward, those sky-blue eyes earnest, his forehead wrinkled.</p><p>“No, <em> I’m </em> sorry,” he says.  “Just because I hate Pierce is no excuse for unloading all a’ that on you.  I mean, I can barely stand to see him on the news and you have to deal with him all the time.  I can’t even imagine how much that might suck.”</p><p>Bucky shouldn’t say anything, he knows he shouldn’t, but it’s just such a relief to have someone understand.  “Yeah,” he says.  “It really, really, does.”</p><p>“I mean, I of all people should know, you don’t get to pick your commanding officers.  I lost sight of that, and...and I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You’ve been —” Bucky feels bad now for making Clint feel bad.  He rubs his temples, trying to will the headache away.  “You’ve been more than tolerant.  I don’t know — I don’t know what I was hoping for.  I was just —”</p><p>“Desperate,” Clint fills in, and Bucky nods.</p><p>“He’s not — he’s not really a rational man,” Bucky says, and shit, he’s trash-talking the President of the United States in front of a civilian.  That breaks every rule he’s had drilled into him from the moment he joined the Service, and yet, it’s so fucking <em> true</em>.  Every day Pierce becomes a little more unhinged, and no one <em> else </em> seems to be acknowledging it.</p><p>“You’re really between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you?” Clint asks sympathetically, and Bucky just nods.  He can’t even think ahead to what’s going to happen when he has to report back that he didn’t secure the site.  If he does he may just lose the little bit of food he finally got in his stomach.</p><p>The desk chair squeaks again as Clint leans back, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling.  “Nat’s gonna <em> kill </em> me,” he sighs, and then meets Bucky’s eyes again.</p><p>“Just the parking lot,” he says.  “Phil — he owns the crematorium across the street — can lend us a podium, and I’ll run some cables for the mics and lights.  He can say his piece and take some photos with the equipment.  I’ll even spot you a hardhat if he wants to play Bob the Builder or whatever the fuck.  That’s it though — Pierce doesn’t step foot inside my building.”</p><p>“What?”  Bucky blinks a few times, trying to wrap his mind around this sudden development.  “Really?  You’ll — you’ll let us have the press conference here?”</p><p>“Sure.  Why not?  Seems like you could use a break, and we could use a little entertainment around here.”</p><p>“Wow.  Thank — I mean, thank you <em> so much</em>.  You — you don’t know what this means to me.”</p><p>Clint leans forward again, bracing his forearms on the desk.  His eyes are a bright, clear blue, and Bucky finds himself getting a little lost in them.</p><p>“Just so we’re clear — this isn’t all out of the kindness of my heart.  You do realize it’s going to look as embarrassing as hell for him, right?  There ain’t no way anyone is mistaking this place for the Four Seasons hotel.  Everyone is gonna know this jawn was a last-minute scramble to justify his big mouth.”</p><p>Bucky feels almost giddy with relief.  “That’s for his PR team to work out.  All I have to do as advance is secure the site.”</p><p>It’s not like Pierce has many PR people left, anyway.  They saw the writing on the wall before most, and despite Pierce’s threats to fire anyone looking for a new position they were working their social media contacts even before the election results rolled in.  The campaign ran out of cash weeks ago, and it’s mostly unpaid interns now.</p><p>“All right, then,” Clint says, with a wry grin.  “I provide the circus, you bring the clown.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Time to Laugh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Since Bucky is on advance team the next day, he’s not on the president’s body detail, and that is a fucking relief.  He catches a little bit of restless sleep and he and Steve are at Four Seasons Total Landscaping at 8 a.m.</p><p>“I’m just gonna ... check out the surrounding area,” Steve says, blushing to the tips of his ears and hot-footing it over to the sex shop.  Ms. Romanoff apparently made quite an impression.</p><p>Bucky is left to loiter outside the landscaping firm with two cups of coffee and a box of donuts.</p><p>At 8:15 the beat-up blue flatbed truck rolls into the lot.  Bucky watches as the dog seems to open the passenger door on his own, jumping out of the truck and then nudging the door shut behind him before bounding up to Bucky.</p><p>Bucky puts the donut box and coffee carrier on the ground, crouching down to meet him.  </p><p>“Hey there,” he croons.  “Who’s a good, smart, dog?  <em> You’re </em> a good smart dog!”  </p><p>He looks up and then blushes when he realizes Clint has heard that whole thing.</p><p>“Sorry.  Uh ... I like dogs.”</p><p>Clint smiles like sunshine.  “Well, Lucky here is a good judge of character.”  He holds out a hand, and Bucky takes it, letting Clint pull him up to standing.  And if Bucky enjoys the warm grip of Clint's callused hand and his easy strength in a way that's a little bit less than professional ... well, that's his business. </p><p>“Seriously, that’s amazing though — you taught him how to work the truck door and all?”</p><p>Clint shrugs.  “I foster puppies sometimes, ones that are headed into training as service dogs for the hearing impaired.  I teach ‘em a few things while they’re with me, and Lucky is quick on the uptake.”</p><p>That is fucking <em> adorable</em>, and Bucky busies himself with picking up the donuts and coffee to hide his expression.  Clint does something on his phone that makes the door lock click open, and then gives that same distinctive three-tone whistle again.  Lucky joyfully springs forward, pressing the button to open the door, and Bucky laughs.</p><p>They settle in the office again.  It looks like Clint has made some half-hearted efforts to clean up the desk, and Bucky is honestly touched.  </p><p>They talk about the plans for the day a little, munching on the donuts and slurping the too-hot coffee.  Clint seems to have everything covered.  He owns several generators which should supply more than enough electrical for the t.v. camera lights and microphones.  He’s even got wire covers, outdoor speakers, and a few other things that will be useful.</p><p>“We help with some outdoor events in the neighborhood,” Clint explains.  “We had a huge block party about a week ago when Peggy Carter won the election,” he adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes.</p><p>“You guys seem close,” Bucky observes.  “You, and Ms. Romanoff, and ... Mr. Coulson, is it?”</p><p>Clint takes a long swig of his coffee.  “Don’t act like you didn’t already do background checks on all a’ us.”</p><p>“Strange thing about that,” Bucky says carefully, “is that there’s not a lot to find.  I mean, there’s a little bit about The Amazing Hawkeye —”</p><p>“Hey, I made that purple sequined spandex work!” Clint protests good-naturedly.</p><p>“You sure did,” Bucky agrees, possibly too emphatically by the way Clint’s eyebrows hitch up a little.  “But then after that —”  He trails off.</p><p>“Let me guess.  A big ol’ blank?”</p><p>“A big ol’ blank,” Bucky agrees, “that says, ‘At the directive of Nicholas J. Fury’.  Now, why would the Director of SHIELD have locked your service record?”</p><p>“Gee, I don’t know,” Clint says, his face the picture of wide-eyed innocence.  “That sure is a mystery, huh?”</p><p>“As much of a mystery as Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Coulson having similar blanks in their backgrounds.  Up until a few years ago, when in the span of a few months all three of you bought out these businesses.”</p><p>“You would think we woulda had to flip for who got stuck with the crematorium, but Phil was actually quite keen on it,” Clint says nonchalantly.  “Says he has good people skills.”</p><p>Bucky leans forward.  “I can tell when something’s beyond my paygrade.  And I think it’s pretty clear that none of you are a threat to the President, regardless of your personal feelings toward him.  But tell me honestly — will I be putting you guys in danger with all this attention?  Because we can still call this off, and damn the consequences.”</p><p>“Aw, that’s sweet.”  Clint’s expression is fondly amused.  “But don’t worry, we’re not in witness protection or anything.  We just retired, and decided to stick it out together.  We’re family now.”</p><p>Bucky leans back again, satisfied.  He wasn’t looking forward to the debacle that would result from calling this thing off last-minute, but he already knows that the lives of Clint and his friends are worth a hundred times more than Pierce’s fragile ego.</p><p>“So ... Four Seasons?” Bucky asks, changing the subject.</p><p>Clint snorts.  “That one’s Nat’s fault.  She said she was kidding, but I already had the sign made up by then.  She said I shoulda known, but what do I know about swanky hotels?  If she had suggested 'Motel 6 Total Landscaping’ I woulda spotted it right away.”</p><p>Bucky barks out a surprised laugh, and Clint just smirks.  “Got her back though — she didn’t know <em> Fantasy Island </em> was a t.v. show until she had her place for a year.”</p><p>Bucky laughs so hard he gets a stitch in his side.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Time for War</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky is grateful for that little interlude with Clint, because things become a whole lot less amusing once they actually start getting set up.  </p><p>The PR folks arrive, take one look around the ragged gravel lot, and decide that the only solution is to plaster the garage door with signs that say “PIERCE 2020” and his ridiculous slogan, “RESTORE AMERICA’S GLORY!”</p><p>Bucky stands helplessly next to Clint, watching his jaw tighten a little more with every piece of pro-Pierce propaganda they put on his building.  Bucky silently vows to come back to help Clint rip every single one of those signs down personally, no matter how late it is when he gets released from duty today.</p><p>An intern makes her way up to Clint, clutching a clipboard protectively in front of her.  “Mr. Barton?  Can we … um … maybe we can pull the dump truck up as a background?  It’s made in America, right?  Built … um … Ford tough?” she stutters out.  </p><p>Clint pulls in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly.  “You certainly can if you wish, ma’am,” he says, in a voice so dangerously calm that it sends a shiver down Bucky’s spine.  “But since it’s got six cubic yards of manure in it waitin’ on delivery and smells to high heaven, I would personally recommend against it.” </p><p>She scurries back and confers with the other PR staff for a minute, and then a different intern approaches.  “Mr. Barton,” he says.  “Is it possible we could take the Pride flag down?”  </p><p>Clint just clenches his teeth, about-faces, and goes inside for a minute to cool off, Lucky on his heels.</p><p>By mid-morning the sawhorses are set up to keep everyone but Pierce’s team and the press off the lot.  There’s a crowd of shouting red-faced men in even redder RAG hats gathering early, parking their Pierce-flagged trucks on the street, and then an even bigger crowd of Philadelphia-style protestors trickling in — at least three Grittys waving anti-fascism signs, an impromptu dance party, and a protest choir among the myriad of people holding up some frankly hilarious signs.  The weather is unseasonably warm for November, and it’s contributing to the festive atmosphere.</p><p>Bucky is getting regular updates on his earpiece, so he knows that Pierce is running late as usual.  </p><p>Clint takes him over to meet Nat and Phil, who have been given front-row seats as local business owners.  Steve is still googly-eyed over Nat, and Nat treats him with an amused tolerance that Clint later assures Bucky is her own special version of heart-eyes.  </p><p>Phil seems kind, and considerate, but there’s an air of quiet dangerousness to him.  He wears his dark suit like he was born in it and his eyes seem to take in the whole scene, missing nothing.  A few minutes past noon he quietly points out a gap in the security perimeter that even Bucky had missed.</p><p>Bucky is starting to develop some theories as to what these three actually did for SHIELD.</p><p>He introduces them to Sam as well, who is watching the whole circus with an air of quiet delight that Bucky knows he’ll wipe off his face the second the limo pulls up.  The man is a master at hiding his true feelings about Pierce, but then Bucky guesses he would have to be.</p><p>Bucky gets the alert in his earpiece that Pierce is <em> finally </em> incoming, and leaves Clint’s side so he can man the entrance.  He moves the sawhorse aside as the presidential procession rolls into the parking lot — just one lead car and then the President’s limo for a small low-risk outing like this.</p><p>Rumlow and Rollins are the President’s body detail today — two of the biggest assholes Bucky has ever met, which means that Pierce loves them — so Bucky leaves them to help Pierce out of the limo while he checks out the podium and microphone set-up one last time.</p><p>Pierce does his usual smiling and waving routine, ramping up the RAG crowd, before making his way to the podium.  Steve has taken his usual position on Bucky’s left side.  As Pierce passes he hisses at Steve, <em> “I thought you said they love me in this part of town.” </em> </p><p>Steve stares straight ahead at the small group of Pierce supporters and the much larger crowd of protestors, expression blank.  “I meant, <em> proportionately</em>,” he says placidly.  “For <em> Philadelphia.” </em></p><p>Pierce’s red face gets even redder, but he moves on to the microphone, and starts up his spiel.</p><p>Bucky learned early on not to actually listen to what Pierce says.  It’s bad for his blood pressure.  </p><p>He keeps his eyes on the crowd instead.  The RAG group is worked up into a lather by Pierce’s vague complaints of election-rigging and unfair treatment, but the protestors seem in high spirits, enjoying the spectacle for what it is.  They know that Pierce has lost the election no matter how much he and his supporters deny it, and it gives them a little breathing room to just appreciate the bizarre tantrum that Pierce is throwing.  Bucky thinks he’d probably feel the same way if he weren’t so close to it all.  </p><p>The Philly cops are doing their best to keep the two groups separated, and the press seem almost bored, taking photos perfunctorily.  After all this time they know Pierce won’t take any questions, so they don’t even bother formulating any.  </p><p>For all the trouble it’s given Bucky, this press conference will barely be a blip in the global news cycle.  In a few months it’ll probably only be notable for making a Buzzfeed list of “10 Most Embarrassing Political Moments” along with President William Stryker throwing up on the Japanese Prime Minister.  Or President Jason Stryker getting hit by a shoe at a press conference.  </p><p>God, at least the Stryker administrations were before Bucky’s time in the Service.  He feels a pang of sympathy for the poor beleaguered Secret Service agents of yore, and goes back to scanning the crowd.</p><p>Pierce finishes up his incoherent rant, and the wave of boos that greets him is overwhelming.  Bucky watches his expression closely, accustomed by now to the signs of an oncoming tantrum.  It’s in the twitching of his piggish little eyes, along with the spots of purple appearing in his mottled complexion that even the layers of spray-tan and pancake foundation can’t obscure.</p><p>The PR folks move in, forming a sort of human barrier between Pierce and the press as they break down the podium setup and prepare for the inevitable photo ops.  Pierce uses the opportunity to stalk over to Bucky, his face apoplectic.</p><p>“<em>You </em> did this, Burns,” he spits.  “You — you did this to <em> humiliate </em> me.  I’ll see you fired for this.”</p><p>“Sir,” Steve tries.  “You tweeted that this conference would be at the Four Seasons before your team made the booking.  This was the only other business in Philadelphia with that name.  Agent <em> Barnes </em> went through a lot of effort to secure the location.”</p><p>Bucky shakes his head at Steve.  God love him, but he just never knows when to quit.</p><p>Sure enough, his words just seem to ramp Pierce up more.</p><p>“You think I didn’t see that rainbow flag up there?  I don’t care if Burns had to fucking blow the owner of this place — yeah, I know that he’s a big old fa <em> — fairy</em>, just like you, Burns — you still set me up, and I’ll see both of you fired by the end of today.  And that — that <em> thug </em> Wilson too.  It’s an embarrassment that any of you were on my detail to begin with.  My <em> real </em> fans don’t like to see it, and I don’t care how it looks as long as you’re <em> gone</em>.”</p><p>Bucky is paralyzed, frozen in place by anger so incandescent the tips of his fingers go numb.  He opens his mouth with absolutely no idea what he’s going to say, and then suddenly Clint is there, leaning solid and steady into his side.</p><p>“Hey, I thought I heard my name!” Clint says brightly, but only someone as obtuse as Pierce would miss the cold anger in his eyes.  “President Pierce, I heard you might wanna take a picture with the dump truck?  Made in America, right?  Built Ford tough, just like you?  I’ll turn it on, get the lights flashing, that kinda thing.  It’ll look real heroic.”</p><p>Clint holds out a hardhat, and Pierce snatches it away as if it has cooties.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, mollified for the moment by the idea.  He puts the hardhat on and turns toward the little cluster of PR people.  Someone holds up a mirror and he settles the hat more firmly on his bulbous head, preening.  </p><p>“Hey, where’s that redhead?” he asks.  “Bring her up here, everybody likes a little eye candy.”</p><p>Bucky looks to see Clint’s reaction, but he’s just watching, that same icy fury in his eyes.</p><p>“I — I don’t know, sir,” the nervous intern is saying.  “I don’t know that she’s really a … a full supporter.”</p><p>“C’mon, are you kidding me?  Of course she’s a supporter, look at her.  No one dresses like that unless they’re hoping to catch my eye, know what I mean?  Maybe she’ll want to take a ride in the limo later, see how the big boys roll,” Pierce says, nudging the intern.</p><p>Clint grasps Bucky’s hand for a minute, giving it a firm squeeze.  “I’ll go start the truck,” he says, fishing a set of keys out of his pocket, Lucky at his heels.</p><p>The dump truck lights come on, engine purring.  The driver’s door slams, and Clint comes back to stand next to Bucky.</p><p>Pierce poses in front of the truck, lifting his head to disguise his double chin, trying to present a flattering profile.  He’s got Natasha by the elbow and she is smiling graciously for the cameras as well.</p><p>“Local business owner right here,” Pierce says, dropping his arm around Natasha’s waist and squeezing her hip.  “She knows who’s good for the economy, right?”  </p><p>The cameras click, the lights glaring.  It’s so loud, together with the noise of the engine, that if Bucky hadn’t been standing right next to Clint he probably wouldn’t have heard him whistle that distinctive, three-tone sound.  </p><p>Natasha neatly sidesteps out of Pierce’s grip and moves toward one of the journalists, cupping her hand over her ear as she asks them to repeat their question.</p><p>Bucky turns to Clint, mouth dropping open as he puts it all together.  Clint just raises an eyebrow at him.</p><p><em> He’s leaving it up to me</em>, Bucky realizes.  For a moment he’s so, so tempted.  </p><p>But then …</p><p>“Sir,” Bucky says, approaching Pierce.  He can tell the back of the dump truck is already tilting with a gentle hiss, but no one else seems to have noticed.  “Sir, I think you should move away from there.”</p><p>“Get out of the shot, Burns,” Pierce snaps.  “I told you, you’re fired.”</p><p>“But sir — “ Bucky reaches out, grasping the sleeve of Pierce’s jacket, trying to guide him to the side.</p><p>“You keep your hands off me, you fucking <em> homo!” </em>  </p><p>Pierce turns and shoves Bucky <em> hard</em>.  The push catches him off balance, sending him pinwheeling back, shoes skidding in the gravel.  </p><p>He barely notices that someone has caught him.  He gets his feet back under him right as Pierce goes back to posing, seconds before the back of the dump truck opens and a tidal wave of manure rushes out, engulfing Pierce from his shoulders to his feet.</p><p>There’s a collective gasp from the press, and even the protestors fall silent in shock for a moment.  Then the noise starts up again with a roar, cameras flashing, people in the crowd yelling, and the journalists screaming questions at Pierce.</p><p>Bucky can only stare, frozen in horror, as Rumlow and Rollins rush forward, scattering manure everywhere and getting covered in it themselves as they pull Pierce out of the pile, all three of them slipping and skidding in the muck.  Pierce's face is purple, streaks of manure running down his cheeks and lodged under his askew hairpiece.  </p><p>“I want that driver arrested!” Pierce shrieks.  He shakes off the solicitous hands of Rollins and Rumlow and stomps over to the driver’s side door himself.</p><p>“Sir!” Rollins yells in alarm as Pierce yanks the door open.</p><p>Pierce’s jaw drops as Lucky jumps out of the cab of the truck and then sits down, wagging his tail.</p><p>Pierce makes a gurgling sound of incoherent rage, draws back his foot, and then <em> kicks </em> Lucky.  Lucky seems to see it coming and dodges, Pierce’s foot only managing a glancing blow, but Lucky yelps all the same, skittering away.</p><p>“Oh <em> hell </em> no,” Clint growls, lunging forward, and Bucky finally unfreezes himself, grabbing one of Clint’s arms while Phil grabs the other.  Clint is actually strong enough to pull them both a pace across the gravel, but then Lucky comes bounding toward them and Bucky and Phil let go just as Lucky leaps into Clint’s arm.  Clint gathers Lucky up like a baby, crooning to him and gently feeling his ribs.</p><p>The cameras haven’t stopped clicking, the roar of the journalists deafening, and that’s when Natasha steps neatly up to Pierce and socks him in the eye with a mean right hook that sends Pierce staggering back against the dump truck.</p><p>Pierce <em> howls</em>, and Bucky rushes forward, grabbing Natasha around the waist, arms pinned to her sides, lifting her clear off the ground to prevent her from getting another shot in.  For some reason, he doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’s <em> letting </em> him.</p><p>“I’ll have you arrested, you fucking <em> bitch!” </em>Pierce screeches.  “You’ll pay for that!”</p><p>“You could,” Natasha says silkily, her voice so soft that Bucky doubts that anyone but the three of them could hear.  “In a few months you will no longer be a public figure, so we could go to trial, with character witnesses on both sides.  It would stay in the news cycle for <em> months</em>.  The networks will never stop replaying the footage of you getting punched by a <em> woman</em>.  It may even cause some speculation about whether we had some kind of pre-existing relationship that bears investigating.  Tell me, <a href="https://www.wordhippo.com/what-is/the-meaning-of/russian-word-6965c9af2b90511335a5f210c090e84544d39991.html"> мудак </a>, have you ever paid a visit to Moscow?”</p><p>Pierce’s face goes from purple to white in a heartbeat.</p><p>Rollins and Rumlow are standing by, guns drawn, with no idea where to point them.</p><p>“Let’s go,” Pierce barks at them.  “Go!  Just fucking <em> go! </em> What do I pay you assholes for!?”</p><p>In seconds Pierce has been bundled through the crowd of journalists to his limo.  It peels out of the parking lot, knocking through the sawhorse, and down the street, narrowly missing Pierce’s supporters and protestors alike.</p><p><em> “Mogul is away,” </em> Bucky’s earpiece informs him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Time to Embrace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bucky,” Steve says, his calm voice cutting through the chaos.  “Do you maybe wanna put Ms. Romanoff down now?”</p><p>“Oh.”  </p><p>Fucking <em> hell</em>.  What in the <em> fuck </em> just happened?  </p><p>“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky says, lowering Ms. Romanoff gently to the ground.</p><p>“Absolutely no concern,” she says graciously.  “Those two other agents looked a bit trigger-happy, so I was hoping you would do something of the sort.”</p><p>“Nat!”  Clint is suddenly there, gathering Natasha in against his side, tucking her under his arm like it’s something they do often.  Phil clusters in on her other side, holding a wriggling Lucky.  </p><p>“Be glad I heard you whistle, мой Воробушек, or I would be putting a knife between your ribs right now,” Natasha says darkly, but she squeezes Clint around the waist all the same before giving Lucky a few pats.</p><p>“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Clint says amiably, and Bucky <em> really </em> has to hear that story sometime.</p><p>They all take a moment to survey the scene.  Most of the press crews are packing up, anxious to get the story to bed, but a few are still shouting questions at the cluster of bewildered PR interns.  The RAG crowd seem to be stomping sulkily back to their trucks, while the protesters are in full party mode, although generally moving along the street to the less-industrial area of the neighborhood where there are a few bars and restaurants.  </p><p>Bucky’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his jacket pocket, grimacing when he sees <em> Phillips </em> on the screen.</p><p>He takes a few steps away, trying to find a quiet corner, and jams his finger in his other ear as he swipes his thumb across to take the call.</p><p><em> “What in the goddamned hell just happened out there, Barnes!” </em> Phillips roars in his ear, and Bucky flinches, moving the phone a few inches away.</p><p>“Sir...well…”</p><p>“Never mind, I already know what happened.  <em> Everyone with live t.v. </em> knows what happened, and it involves the President of the United Fucking States getting covered in <em> shit </em> during a routine photo op.”</p><p>“Sir, I tried —”</p><p>Phillips’ voice calms a notch.  “I know, son.  That’s in the footage too.  It doesn’t matter.  Pierce wants all three of you off his detail as of this moment.  That’s you, Rogers, and Wilson.  The three of you take a week’s vacation, and we’ll figure things out from there.  I don’t want to see your faces until this has all calmed down, do you hear me?”</p><p>“Yes.  Yes, sir.”</p><p>Phillips disconnects without another word, and Bucky takes a moment to just lean against the purple cinderblock wall and catch his breath.  He pulls his earpiece out, and puts it in his pocket.</p><p>He looks up and finds them all watching him.</p><p>“You heard that, huh?” Bucky asks.</p><p>“He was kind of ... yelling,” Clint says sheepishly.  “Bucky, I’m so sorry.  And you too, Steve and Sam.  I swear I didn’t plan to do that, I just got so <em> mad </em> at the way he was treating you guys.”  He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, grimacing.  “I can be a little impulsive, I guess.”</p><p>Natasha and Phil both snort in unison.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Bucky says.  He’s still trying to get his head around everything that just happened, but it does kind of feel like it’s going to be okay.  Honestly, the more he processes it, the more he feels like a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders.  He may never have to see Pierce again.  “It could be worse.”  </p><p>“How could it be <em> worse</em>, Barnes?” Sam asks, shaking his head.</p><p>Just the thought of it has Bucky snickering, and then suddenly he’s having trouble holding in his laughter.  </p><p>“We could be in that limousine,” he manages, and then he’s bursting into laughter at the thought of it — Rumlow and Rollins trapped in that hermetically-sealed limousine with a livid Pierce, all three of them covered in manure from head to toe.  It’s going to be a hell of a long ride for them, and Bucky wouldn’t change places with them for the <em> world</em>.</p><p>Steve is the first to join in, with a high-pitched giggle that has the rest of them laughing as well, until they are all doubled over, wiping tears from their eyes.  Only Phil is immune, watching them with an amused tolerance until they pull themselves together before handing Lucky back off to Clint.</p><p>“I have to make a phone call,” he says.  “Are we on for tonight?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course.”  Clint looks back at Bucky.  “We usually get together on Saturday nights — order take-out and hang out.  You guys —” he includes Steve and Sam in his glance “— wanna join us?”</p><p>Bucky can feel himself smiling, big and wide.  “Well, I <em> do </em> find myself with a little unexpected time on my hands.”</p><p>Steve is looking down at Natasha, who has found her way to his side.  “Yeah, that sounds great,” he says, turning red to the tips of his ears.</p><p>Natasha smiles back indulgently.  “I seem to have customers.”  She gestures to a row of people who have lined up at the door to the sex shop.  “I’ll be back at 6,” she says, and saunters off.  The row of customers cheers and snaps photos as she walks towards them, and Bucky suspects that Natasha is on her way to becoming a local celebrity.</p><p>“I had the weekend off anyway,” Sam says, with a shrug.  “Riley and I were gonna hit up the sights of Philly, but we’ll swing back around.”  </p><p>Clint is smiling his sunshine smile.  He takes a step closer to Bucky, his blue eyes warm.  “I’m gonna take Lucky to get checked out by the vet, just in case.  I can leave the building open, if you’re okay sticking around?”</p><p>It’s been one hell of a day, and Bucky is suddenly feeling reckless.  “I’ll be here,” he says.  He leans in, leaving Clint plenty of time to move back.  Clint does nothing of the sort, just tightening his grip on Lucky and then leaning down himself, until Bucky can kiss that incandescent smile.  </p><p>And, fuck, but Clint’s tall — even leaning down Bucky has to brace his hand against Clint’s side, getting up on his tiptoes.  Clint’s lips are warm and gentle, the kiss tentative until Bucky leans in a fraction more and coaxes Clint’s lips open hungrily.  </p><p>Clint makes a noise in the back of his throat and frees one arm to wrap around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in tight.  Then they’re kissing deeply, soft and wet and tender, Clint’s scruff scraping Bucky’s face and sending a thrill down his spine.  They kiss, and kiss, until the dog is squirming between them, and Steve and Sam are catcalling, and the crowd in front of the sex shop is cheering and snapping photos, and Bucky and Clint break apart, both of them laughing breathlessly.</p><p>“I’d better — “ Clint says, shuffling his feet a little and pointing a thumb over his shoulder in what Bucky guesses is the direction of the vet’s office.</p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, but neither of them move for a moment.  Then Clint leans forward, stealing one more lingering kiss, and heads out of the lot with a spring in his step, ignoring the questions the last few journalists yell at him.</p><p>“Maybe I’ll go help Nat —” Steve starts, turning, and Bucky grabs him by the jacket collar.  “Not so fast,” he says.  “You landed me in this shit, Stevie.  You can sure as hell help me shovel it.”</p><p>Steve looks over at the pile of manure, and sighs, but then takes off his jacket and slings it over the chicken wire fence, rolling his sleeves up gamely.  “You get the shovels.”</p>
<hr/><p>Clint is the first one back, Lucky bounding at his heels.  </p><p>“All okay?” Bucky asks.</p><p>“He’s fit as a fiddle and full of biscuits,” Clint says fondly.  He surveys the lot.  The manure is all cleaned up, the dump truck parked back near the fence and the gravel hosed clean.  The shovels are hosed down too, drying in the sun.  All the Pierce signs have been pulled down, stuffed into a metal trash can Bucky found inside.</p><p>“You didn’t hafta do that,” Clint says, pulling Bucky close and giving him another kiss.</p><p>“We owed it to you,” Bucky protests.</p><p>“No, I mean, you <em> really </em> didn’t have to do that,” Clint says with a widening grin.  “Woulda taken me two minutes to do it with the frontloader.”</p><p>Bucky groans and buries his face against Clint’s chest, as Clint squeezes him tight and laughs softly in his ear.</p>
<hr/><p>The weather is perfect — still unseasonably warm but cooling just enough as dusk falls.  Clint has set up tables and chairs outside, hanging string lights from hooks in the facade.  The outdoor speakers are playing soft music, and in the distance they can hear the jubilant noise of celebrations all up and down the block.</p><p>Nat and Steve come back first, having closed up the sex shop despite the steady stream of customers, Nat apparently having promised everyone who comes back tomorrow an autograph.  They bring Thai food, and start unloading it next to the boxes of pizza Clint had picked up.</p><p>Helen Cho, the vet, arrives with two giant trays of tamales.  A young Asian-American woman Clint calls Katie-Kate and describes as his “business protégé” shows up a few minutes later, wearing a “Fuck Pierce” t-shirt and eager to hear them all recount the story.  </p><p>Sam and Riley roll up in a rented car, popping the trunk and unloading a case of beer that Clint helps empty into an old washtub full of ice and soft drinks he has set up.  They duck back into the car.  Riley pops out carrying a giant box of soft pretzels, and Sam has what looks like a pile of cloth in one hand that he tosses to Clint.  </p><p>“They’re already selling t-shirts,” Sam explains, and Clint unfurls the fabric to reveal a drawing of Lucky, tongue lolling out, grinning one-eyed, encircled with the words “Bad Things Happen in Philadelphia.”</p><p>Clint immediately whips off his t-shirt and pulls that one on, smoothing it down proudly and a little too rapidly for Bucky’s preference over a broad chest and tantalizing abs.</p><p>Nat has brought over her computer, and they keep switching between news feeds, trying to find their favorite slow-motion footage of the manure dump and Nat’s punch.  Even FOX News seems to have abandoned their loyalty to Pierce and is wallowing in the schadenfreude.  </p><p>Riley, Kate, and Helen keep handing their phones around, showing everyone the memes that have already been created from the event.  </p><p>“I don’t get it,” Riley complains.  “The man has sexually assaulted women, put kids in cages, embraced white supremacists, and destroyed gay rights for four long years, and yet <em> kicking a dog </em> is what finally turns public opinion unanimously against him?”  </p><p>“And getting punched by a woman,” Natasha chimes in cheerfully, and she and Kate fist bump.</p>
<hr/><p>The party is already in full swing by the time Phil arrives, immaculate in his suit and tie. </p><p>People walking back to their cars have been clapping and cheering when they spot Natasha, and she has been good-naturedly curtseying for her adoring fans.  Riley is enjoying the hell out of embarrassing Sam with stories of how they met in college, Steve and Bucky have been sharing tales of growing up together in Brooklyn, and Nat and Clint have been telling some heavily-redacted but still hilarious accounts of their time in SHIELD, but Phil has been notably absent until now.</p><p>Clint looks up from where he’s been sneaking Lucky leftover pizza slices and trying to light a fire in the metal trash can full of Pierce signs so that they can roast marshmallows over it.</p><p>“Phil!” he exclaims.  “What kept you?”</p><p>Phil smiles enigmatically, leaning forward to give Lucky a few pats.  “Barnes needs to answer his phone.”</p><p>“What?”  Bucky pats his pants pockets, and realizes his phone is in the pocket of his jacket inside the building, where he left it when he went to get the shovels.  He goes to get it, shrugging it on and pulling the phone out to find a string of missed calls from Phillips.</p><p>Puzzled, he hits the “Return Call” button as he makes his way back outside, and immediately has Phillips barking in his ear.</p><p>“Barnes!  <em> Where in the hell have you been?” </em> </p><p>“I thought — sir, you said to take vacation —”</p><p>“Yeah, whatever, sit on the beach with a coconut for all I care, but <em> answer your goddamned phone! </em>President-elect Carter called, she wants you transferred to her personal detail, as soon as your vacation ends.  Rogers and Wilson too.”</p><p>“Sir?  I mean — <em> really</em>, sir?”</p><p>“Am I known for kidding around, son?  Anyway, now you know, and I can go about my evening.”  </p><p>Phillips hangs up as abruptly as usual, and Bucky looks up to find everyone’s eyes on him.</p><p>“We’re — we’re on <em> Carter’s </em> detail,” Bucky says, his voice a little faint with shock.  “Effective in a week.”</p><p>“It will be an honor,” Steve says solemnly.  The man has hero-worshipped Senator Carter for decades.</p><p>“It’s a goddamn <em> promotion</em>,” Sam says wonderingly.</p><p>Bucky’s eyes snap back to Phil, who is nonchalantly filling his plate with tamales.  “How — how did you —?”</p><p>“Hey, Phil,” Clint interjects, trying to smother a smile.  “I heard that Peggy Carter was involved in SHIELD back in the day.  One of the founding members, you could even say.  Is that true?” </p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t be authorized to say anything about that,” Phil says blandly.</p><p>“You —”  Bucky has no idea what to say.  “You don’t even know us, you didn’t have to —”</p><p>Phil’s eyes are kind.  “I’m sure Peggy would have thought of it herself eventually, but there was no need to keep you boys in suspense.”  He goes back to piling his plate, carefully balancing a soft pretzel on top.  “Besides, looks to me like you’re part of the family, now,” he adds nonchalantly.</p><p>He settles in next to Helen, giving her a shy smile and nudging her until she holds her phone where he can see it as she scrolls through the new “Four Seasons Total Landscaping” tag on Tumblr.</p><p>Steve looks up from where he has Nat on his lap, holding the stick steady for her as she carefully skewers marshmallows.  “Sounds good to me,” he agrees with a grin.</p><p>Bucky looks at Clint.  He’s smiling, but there’s a little bit of hesitation in his eyes.  “Guess you’re stuck with us,” he says.  “Phil says it, so it has to be true.”  He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, eyebrows furrowing.  “Is that okay with you?” he adds softly.</p><p>Bucky steps closer, hoping even a fraction of the joy he feels right now is showing in his expression.  Whatever it takes to show Clint that he’s all in on this.</p><p>“Speaking of family,” he says, winding his arms around Clint’s waist and pulling him in close.  “I hear most of President-elect Carter’s family lives in Delaware.  Kids, and grandkids.  Spends most of her time there, I believe.”</p><p>Clint smiles back, wide and relieved.  “It just happens to be less than half an hour from here to the Delaware border, you know,” he says, his voice a low pleased rumble in Bucky’s ear.</p><p>“Then it sounds like it’s my lucky day,” Bucky says.</p><p>He doesn’t even mind the catcalls and spontaneous applause that break out as he kisses Clint again, the fire snapping merrily and beer bottles clinking in toasts in the background as Lucky scampers at their feet.</p><p>
  
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